


“Lift Home?”

by Bea_The_Cat123



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, I’m sorry Aziraphale, M/M, pre-canon?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-12 04:15:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20155729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bea_The_Cat123/pseuds/Bea_The_Cat123
Summary: What happened in 1941 to lead to what happened in 1967.





	“Lift Home?”

The car ride was silent. Aziraphale sat, brushing the soot off of his hat and gazed out of the window. Rushing, screaming, crumbling, it began to die down. 

He expected it to be more tense, honestly. He expected Crowley to be curled up, ready to strike. Aziraphale expected himself to be fiery, ready to rant on how Crowley left him for 80 years, only to show up to rescue him.

To rescue him...like a prince on a noble steed. Marching into battle to protect his treasure, his prize, his princess..

Aziraphale squinted his eyes at the thought. Now was not the time for daydreaming. 

Crowley was focused on the road for the most part, his hands relaxed on the wheel. His bony fingers, dusty with ash...Aziraphale’s senses still tingled from when their hands had brushed. Goodness, what a Putto he was! He shouldn’t indulge himself in such romantics...and yet, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t relieved that Crowley was okay. 

They arrived to his bookshop. The lights were out, and the streets were quiet as the citizens of London slept soundly. 

He hoped that, at least. He wouldn’t want the bombing to scare them all. 

“Alright then,” Crowley said, shooting a glance at Aziraphale. “Mind how you go.”

But Aziraphale did not go. He sat there, for a long minute. Or maybe an hour. Time was an illusion, after all. Aziraphale shifted his jaw, trying to find his words.

“80 years...” he muttered. “You show up again...when I need it.” Aziraphale let a soft smile play on his lips. “The sense you have is impeccable, Crowley.” The demon beside him shifted, and a fit of stuttering escaped his mouth.

“Not really,” he shrugged. “It’s...I heard you were getting into trouble, British Intelligence spoke of some odd dealing going on...so I signed up to-“

“You’re in the Intelligence?” Aziraphale’s smile grew. “Well, I’ll be damned! You really are a nice one, aren’t you!” Crowley’s yellow gaze fluttered to Aziraphale, then around the car, as his blush grew.

“Yeah, yeah, spying is a sin, isn’t it?” Crowley’s defenses were dripping down, melting. Aziraphale gave a small laugh of relief. It felt so good to be with him again. 

“I...feel I should say something about my nap.” 

“No dear, I'm sure you needed it, didn't you," the angel shook his head. "I should've chosen my words more wisely."

Crowley gave a small grin and dipped his head. "I guess we're both bad at that."

Aziraphale chuckled at the comment. He leaned towards Crowley with a smile, winking. " I'd say it's your best feature.”

The moment hung in the car, as Crowley’s grin wavered. He looked at Aziraphale, searching his eyes for...something. An answer? A question? A request?

“I...” Crowley rubbed his fingers together. “I missed you, Angel.” Aziraphale could see his eyes twinkling in the dim lights of the city. 

Aziraphale shuddered when Crowley raised his hand and gently trailed his fingertips across his cheek. Crowley's touch was soft, tender. The love radiating off of the demon was still, steady...nervous. Sweet. Like the comforting darkness of night, wrapping him up.

“I missed you too-" He almost squeaked when his sentence was cut off by Crowley pulling his face closer to himself. Their lips met, trembling, and pulled at each other. 

Aziraphale felt himself numb, melting into the love around him. Like the warmest of waters, comforting, his tenseness disappearing, if only for a moment. Oh how he had missed this immensely! When was the last time? He couldn’t remember. 

These moments always stirred in his core the feeling of their first, their energy buzzing, practically screaming over the roar of rain...it was deafening now in the best way possible.

Crowley pulled away gently. He gave a soft smile, and Aziraphale could clearly see his slit eyes through his glasses. The angel returned the smile...no, the beam. 

“Shall we go to lunch tomorrow?” Aziraphale suggested, his lips still wet. “Rations can’t be that limited.”

Crowley flashed his smile, two fangs amidst normal teeth. “Sounds like a date.” 

Aziraphale almost didn’t want to leave the car...but he should at least return his books to their safest spot, in case any Nazi’s were on his heels again. 

“Well, I ought to put these back,” Aziraphale signed, opening the car door. “Have a nice night, Crowley.”

“Night, Angel,” Crowley replied. They exchanged one more look before Aziraphale left the car. He watched as it rounded a corner before speeding off into the night. 

Aziraphale could’ve spun into the stars, over the moon. The demon still loved him, after all that time! It was practically a dream come true (in the metaphorical sense, Aziraphale didn’t sleep). He let himself spin wistfully outside his bookshop, before putting his hat back on with a cheery sigh. He reached into his pocket and grabbed the key, the bookshop’s closed sign casting a shadow across his face. 

Click.

Flash.

Aziraphale squinted his eyes as the bookshop lights blared down on him. The usual warm lights now felt searing. After several blinks, his heavenly blood ran cold. The air was crystal clean, but thick with a chemical odor, like bleach, a white so shrill and pure that approaching was almost impossible.

“Aziraphale!”

Trumpets. Gabriel’s voice sounded always too loud, too inviting, too close. 

“Archangel Gabriel,” the words were sharp in Aziraphale’s mouth. “What a surprise.” The Archangel wore one of his blinding smiles, along with his silver and purple clothes (were they really clothes?). He spread his hands, as if he were going to give a hug...but Aziraphale knew better.

It took Aziraphale a minute to process everything. He removed his hat and clenched it in his hands. 

“What brings you here?” The angel finally found his words. 

His core felt as if it just had been plunged into the Arctic Ocean. How could he be so stupid? He knew why Gabriel was here.

Aziraphale knew exactly what was going to come. His eyes flicked all over the bookshop, at Gabriel, at his priceless books, at the backroom, at the books in his hands. Oh, if he could just stop time and read those books of prophecy, would there be an answer to this? 

_Was this really the end? _

_Gabriel, he had to have seen it. No...no, no no no..._

_Why? Why now?_

“I just was in the area,” Gabriel sniffed. “Y’know, silly human war goin’ on. Easy miracles.” Aziraphale gulped a little too loudly. “And I thought, ‘hey, Aziraphale owns that collection of information, wonder how he’s doing?’” 

Gabriel, compared to Crowley, was literal whiplash. Instead of omitting warm, sharp, overwhelmingly beautiful love, Gabriel was...winter. The dead of it. Void of anything except freezing, and it hurt to stare at it too long. 

Gabriel was lying, Aziraphale always felt it. It sucked at his energy. 

“Well,” Aziraphale huffed. “Here I am.”

“Yes...and wow, what happened?” Gabriel started walking around the bookshop, slowly circling Aziraphale, staring with his mysterious violet eyes. “You smell like Hell.”

_He knows. _

Aziraphale couldn’t speak. He was frozen. Stuck to the floor, his mouth cemented shut. 

“What could you possibly be doing? If you failed to thwart a demon, you can tell me.” 

_He knows!_

“It’s not like we expected that to work, after all,” Gabriel brushed off his sleeve. “This war is crawling with demons. Terrible, with the Nazis, all of them.”

Aziraphale snapped back to reality, bending the brim of his hat with the urge to wring his hands together and play with his ring. Or fly away. One of the two.

“Right, right,” Aziraphale started to move to his backroom, to remove his coat and hang up his hat...but Gabriel proceeded to follow. 

“It’s a lot more crowded in here,” the Archangel said, standing a little too close to Aziraphale. “How much shit do you collect in a century?” Aziraphale flinched ever so slightly, his back to Gabriel as he hung up his hat and shrugged off his coat. 

“A lot of the books are from...earlier...” Aziraphale muttered, but he knew Gabriel didn’t care. The angel gripped his coat rack handles. This interrogation was going to last an eternity. 

_Try to hide it...for Crowley, please..._

“What is  _that_?”  The Archangel spat, pointing at a book on a lower shelf. Aziraphale slid his eyes to see a first edition copy on a book about Demon-Summoning. Aziraphale could’ve miracled it away, but that wouldn’t do anything. Ever since 1900, Gabriel had been in charge of overseeing all miracles...and Aziraphale hadn’t found a loophole yet. 

“Oh...that,” Aziraphale gulped. “Just an old copy, you know.” 

Gabriel reached for the book, tossing it in his hands. “Demon-Summoning?” He flipped through, squinting at the print inside. His purple gaze flicked back to Aziraphale. “I assume there’s an explanation to this.”

_It was to study the enemy._

_I wanted to get ahead for that inevitable war you always go on about._

_I only summon demons to smite them on the spot._

_It was a recent gift._

_I’ve had it for years._

_It must’ve been misplaced in there._

_It’s not mine._

_I’m lying to you._

_It’s not what it looks like._

_I just wanted to call Crowley._

_Get out of my bookshop!_

“Aziraphale?” 

The angel, rather forcefully, tugged the book from Gabriel and slammed it onto his desk, before a nervous smile crept onto his face. His core was frozen solid at this point, but his eyes were on fire.

“...Forgive me, that must be the cause of the smell,” Aziraphale walked briskly back into the bookshop proper. “I must get prepared for my human customers next morning,” Aziraphale busied himself, unlocking the bag of prophecy books, his eyes stinging as he brushed the handle. 

_Leave, leave, leave._

Gabriel hovered around for what felt like a century. Circling, like an eagle above him. Peering, peeking, checking.

_Leave! Please, leave!_

“Have you heard those rumors?” The air was filled with the smell of crackling lightning. “About that demon, who lurks around on the surface?”

Drip. 

Aziraphale didn’t need to breathe...but he found himself gasping for air. 

“Been here since, what, Eden?” 

Aziraphale felt another tear slide down his cheek. He tried to force himself to return to his work, but his corporation didn’t seem to...cooperate. 

“Weird, huh? Who would want to be down here?” Gabriel’s laugh was similar to a lightning strike. Charged, forced, loud. “You’re down here so often, have you seen him?”

Drop.

Aziraphale could feel his golden blood pulse under his skin, his core a ball of ice, his eyes burning with fire. 

“...No,” Aziraphale said softly. He rubbed his eyes, blinking rapidly, and began moving the books aimlessly around the bookshop. 

“Really?” Gabriel was now standing in the entrance. A wall. Blocking him. “I’m impressed, Aziraphale! No wonder you haven’t been discorporated yet, eh?” More horrible laughter. “Better be quick then, those weird earther-demons know their way around.” 

Fire, burning, burning everywhere. Aziraphale felt it lick the insides of his throat, charge, burn, burn  everything. 

Fire, being put out by rain.

Rain, pounding on white and black wings.

Joy. 

Tumbling through the sky. 

Lightning, illuminating beautiful, glossy scales, glimmering with a million stars. 

_Crowley._

“Gabriel, I...I’ve had a long night,” Aziraphale’s voice was strained, stuttering, boiling. “I was thwarting Nazis before you came.” The angel forced himself to turn and meet Gabriel, hoping he couldn’t see the red of his stinging eyes. “If you please, goodnight.”

The Archangel sucked at his energy, like a tick. Aziraphale’s vision was blurry, he couldn’t tell if Gabriel looked impressed or not.

“Wow! That’s very impressive,” Gabriel gave a couple of loud, sharp, echoing claps. “I’ll see head office give you a promotion!” Aziraphale could feel his skin split, wet eyes forming around his body. He tugged at his sleeve, desperately trying to will them away. 

Drip, drop.

“Alright, Aziraphale, goodnight,” Gabriel said when his clapping was done. “Make sure you watch out for bombs, and all. Goodbye!”

Ding.

Slam. 

The lights buzzed off, leaving Aziraphale alone in the dark. 

Four large white wings unfurled behind him, eyes blinking through brown and gold feathers. His clothes became heavy as all of his eyes ran with tears. They soaked on his skin, squeezing it with collected salt. Drip, drip, drip, down Aziraphale’s body, down his wings. He sunk to the floor, his wings wrapping around himself, blocking out the dim city lights. 

_He knew...he knew everything. _

A hiccough escaped Aziraphale’s chest. 

_Himself...Crowley..._

Aziraphale grabbed at his white curls, hot tears spilling out of his eyes, into his hair, into his eyes, onto his skin, onto his clothes, onto his wings.

_Crowley!_

He pulled down at his hair, sinking his nails into his scalp. 

_Crowley...Crowley, I’m so sorry! _

Aziraphale pulled his knees in. 

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Five thousand years flashed through Aziraphale’s head. So many memories, so many ideas, so many choices made...

So many dinners, so many arguments, so many hugs, so many flights, so many kisses.So many words, enough to fill a thousand bookshops. So much history.

They poured out Aziraphale’s eyes. 

Gasping, he pressed his hands together, sobbing, he felt them slick with tears.

_Principality Aziraphale, God, please...please...don’t take Crowley away...I can’t...please...I...shit!_

_Aziraphale buried his head in his hands. _

_Why couldn’t we...wait? Until this was over? _

_...Why?_

Aziraphale and Crowley met up in 1952 for lunch and walk around the park. Aziraphale enjoyed the skirts he could choose from.

He didn’t say much that day, though. 

He was silent, for most of it. He ate quietly. He walked. The two were silent. 

Aziraphale didn’t want to say anything. 

_Gabriel could find you._

_Hell could find you._

_I can’t fall...they’ll destroy us. They’ll destroy me. They’ll destroy you._

Crowley didn’t say much either, but Aziraphale could feel the warm, comforting love of Crowley start to turn a little bitter. 

He was worried too...wasn’t he?

“Should I say thank you?”

Pink and yellow lights filled the Bentley. Crowley was holding the most deadly weapon a demon could have in his hands. 

Aziraphale felt like he was choking on boiling holy water himself. Here they were again, in Crowley’s Bentley. Here they were again.

Aziraphale could hear the lightning. He could smell the bleach. He could see the snow. 

“Better not.” 

The love turned into inconsistent waves, echoing around Soho. The fire behind Aziraphale’s eyes was surging.

“Can I drop you anywhere?”

_Lift home?_

The words, the bombing, the fires crackling, it all rang in Aziraphale’s ears. 

He’s coming, Crowley...I can’t risk this again...

“No, thank you...”

Crowley bit his lip. 

“Oh...don’t look so disappointed. Perhaps one day we could...” 

_Find each other after this mess. _

“I don’t know...Have a picnic. Or dine at the Ritz.”

The sunglasses didn’t stop Aziraphale from noticing Crowley search his face, looking for an answer.

“I’ll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go.” 

Aziraphale couldn’t even breathe. 

_It was never safe._

_We should’ve waited, all those years ago._

_I jeopardized us._

_Crowley...forgive me..._

“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah this was a fair amount of vent yeehaw


End file.
